Harry Potter and Katie Lupin: The Sorcerer's Stone
by Siriusly Insane Chick
Summary: Used to be called Harry Potter and Katie Lupin: A World Unknown. It's basically the same thing as the Harry Potter series, but this time, Harry's got Katherine Lupin to help him out! How will this change things? Years 1-7. R&R! Flames welcome!
1. The Boy Who Lived

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**I hope you enjoy!**

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><p><span>The Boy Who Lived<span>

A man appeared on the corner of Privet Drive that an orange tabby cat that sat on the garden gate of Number Four was watching. He appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles. His nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamping went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again—the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. if anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had, had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and partied on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was one their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them,' said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something. But he didn't, so she went on. "A find thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A _what_?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone—"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? all this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense—for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know—oh, all right, _Voldemort_, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too—well—_noble_ to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she like my earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the _rumors_ that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed the Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters and the Lupins. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter and Madeline Lupin are—are—that they're—_dead_."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… Madeline… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know… I know…" he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on, "That's not all. they're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry, and the Lupins' daughter, Katherine. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill those two babies. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill them, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's _true_?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't kill two _babies_? It's just astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Katherine survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why _you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry and Katherine to Harry's aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now, and the Ministry would never let Remus take care of Katherine by himself."

"You don't mean—you _can't_ mean to people who live _here_?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son—I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin, come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Harry's aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous—legends—there will be books written about Harry and Katherine—every child in our world will know their names!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course. But how are the children getting here, Dumbledore?" she eyes his cloak suddenly as though she though he might be hiding Harry and Katherine underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it—_wise_—to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to—what was that?"

A low, rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so _wild_—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems were there?"

"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarming' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy and a baby girl, both fast asleep. The boy had a tuft of black hair and the girl had a tuft of auburn hair. Under the tuft of jet-black hair over the boy's forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightening.

"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give them here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry and Katherine in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I—could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. He did the same with Katherine. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it—Lily an' James an' Maddie dead—an' poor little Harry and Katherine off ter live with Muggles—"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. he laid Harry and Katherine gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside their blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and then twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," Dumbledore said finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it one, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry, Katherine," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

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><p><strong>And there's chapter one! I hope you all enjoyed!<strong>

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	2. The Vanishing Glass

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

JustYourAverageWitch - I know, right? :) Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad you like it so far. Keep reviewing!

**Here's chapter two!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span>The Vanishing Glass<span>

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find Harry and Katherine on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. the sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantel-piece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets—but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign at all that two other children lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin were still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Harry's Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up! And wake up the brat, too!" she screeched. Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon and the girl to fix the pancakes. And don't you dare let it burn! I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

Kate yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Nothing, nothing…"

Dudley's birthday—how could he have forgotten?

"You forgot, didn't you?" Katie smiled at him.

"Shut up…"

He got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry and Katherine were used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where they slept.

Katherine stretched out the kinks in her back and brushed her hair, pulling it up into a pony tail, "Let's get this over with…"

They went down the hall and into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new compute he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise—unless of course it involved punching somebody. Dudley's favorite punching bags were Harry and Katherine, but he couldn't often catch them. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. And Katherine didn't look it, but she was fierce when she wanted to be.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he head to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose.

Katherine was almost the exact opposite of Harry. She was tall and steady with a fair complexion. She had long, straight auburn hair that reached her mid-back and auburn color eyes that were a bit lighter than her hair. They tended to turn golden when she was angry. Unlike Harry, though, she was able to her temper under control.

The only thing that Harry liked about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightening. He had, had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions—that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

When Katherine asked about her parents, Aunt Petunia had said, "Your mother died in the same accident that the boy's parents did. And your father left you here. He _abandoned _you."

Ever since Aunt Petunia had said that, Katherine had refused to talk about her father.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon and Katherine was flipping the pancakes.

"Comb your hair!" he barked at Harry, by a way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry need a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way—all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs and Katherine was baking the biscuits by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face; not much neck; small, watery blue eyes; and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel—Kate often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Katie put the pancakes and biscuits on the table as well. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's presents, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and daddy."

"Alright, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry heard Katherine curse softly under her breath and sensing a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, they both began wolfing down their bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over.

He had done it before.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work.

"Don't hurt yourself," Harry heard Katherine say under her breath. He hid a snort with difficulty.

Finally, Dudley said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh," Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

"Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

Katherine looked disgusted.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Kate, and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry and Katherine's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, Harry's heart gave a great leap, and Katherine hid her smile at Harry's jubilant expression. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry and Kate were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. Kate said she didn't mind; she said that it was better than being at the Dursleys, and Harry agreed with her to an extent. But Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned and she let Kate help her bake cookies. She treated Kate as if she were her granddaughter. It wasn't bloody fair.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry and Kate as though they'd planned this. Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates them."

The Dursleys often spoke about Harry and Kate like this, as though they weren't there—or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend—Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave us here," Harry put in hopefully (he'd be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley's computer).

Katherine snorted, "Nice try, Harry."

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.

"We won't blow up the house," said Harry, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take them to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave them in the car…"

"That car's new, they're not sitting in it alone…"

Dudley began to cry loudly. In face, he wasn't really crying—it had been years since he'd really cried—but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry. Mummy won't let them spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.

"I… don't… want… them… t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "They always sp-spoil everything!" He gave Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang— "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said aunt Petunia frantically—and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry at once.

Half an hour later, Harry and Katherine, who couldn't believe their luck, were sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in their lives. Harry's aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him. But before they left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," he had said, putting his large, purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy—any funny business, anything at all—and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry. "honestly…"

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him. No one but Kate ever did.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and Katherine and it was just no good telling the Dursleys they didn't make them happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald except for his bangs, which she left "to hide that horrible scar." Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry (Katherine had been unable to hide her silent laughter, but had been supportive anyway) and Harry had spent a sleepless night imagining school the next day, where he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. Next morning, however, he had gotten up to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off. He had been given a week in his cupboard for this (and Kate too, for good measure), even though he had tried to explain that he _couldn't_ explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been trying to force Kate into a revolting old sweater of Dudley's (brow with orange puff balls). The harder she tried to pull it over her head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't fit Kate. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to her great relief, Kate wasn't punished.

On the other hand, Harry'd gotten into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchens. Dudley's gang had been chasing him as usual when, as much to Harry's surprise as anyone else's, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry's headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he'd tried to do (as he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked door of his cupboard) was jump behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen doors. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him in mid-jump.

Kate had glared at him and said "That's impossible." The funny thing was, whenever one of them got punished, the other got punished as well. They had both been locket in their for two months before because Kate had supposedly turned their teacher into a Labrador retriever.

But today, nothing was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's cabbage-smelling living room.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Kate, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"…roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying.

Kate, who was sitting beside him, smacked a hand to her forehead and moaned, "Harry…"

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

Kate glared at them furiously, causing them both to shut up.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one things the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon—they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry and Kate what they wanted before they could hurry them away, they bought Harry and cheap lemon ice pop and Kate a fudge bar. It wasn't bad, either, though Harry, licking it as they watching a gorilla scratching its head. It looked remarkably like Dudley, except that it wasn't blond.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favorite hobby of hitting him. They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bough him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first. When Harry had offered it to Kate, she had shaken her head. She didn't like to eat a lot at one time. She hadn't really wanted the fudge pop that morning, but knew better than to protest.

Harry felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of lizards and snakes were crawling and slithering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trash can—but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Kate, who'd gone pale when they'd entered the reptile house, went white as a ghost when she saw the length of the great snake. Harry offered her a reassuring smile. The poor girl was deathly terrified of snakes. Kate gave him a weak smile in return and kept her distance from the glass.

Dudley, however, stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and look intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself—no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house.

"Kate, come here," he said.

"No, thanks."

"It's asleep," he said reassuringly. "Just come over here."

"Harry, there's only an inch of fragile glass between me and that snake. I don't think so."

He turned to her and smiled at her, "It's not going to hurt you unless you hurt it first."

"I'm not going to hurt it—"

"Then come over here."

"—because I'm not going anywhere _near_ it," she finished.

Harry sighed and turned back to the glass. The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry's.

_It winked._

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching. Kate had cautiously made her way to one of the smaller, harmless snakes. Nobody was looking. He looked back at the snake and winked, too.

The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quiet plainly:

_I get that all the time._

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying."

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?"

"Harry, who're you talking to?" Kate asked, looking back at him.

"No one," he answered quickly.

Kate looked suspicious, but then she saw that the snake was looking at her. She paled and looked away quickly.

Harry looked back at the snake.

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. "Oh, I see—so you've never been to Brazil?"

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry feel hard on the concrete floor. Kate rushed forward and helped Harry sit up, glaring at Dudley furiously. What happened next came so fast no one saw how it happened—one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

"Oh, shit," Kate gasped, stumbling backwards, her back hitting the wall.

"Kate, it's okay," Harry said reassuringly.

As the snake slid swiftly past him, it turned its head and said in a low, hissing voice, "Brazil, here I come… Thanksssss, amigo. And tell your friend not to be ssssso sssscared of ussss ssssnakes. We're not assss bad assss humanssss make ussss out to be."

Harry helped Kate to her feet and kept an arm around her trembling shoulders.

"How?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Harry shook his head.

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock.

"But the glass," he kept saying, "where did the glass go?"

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong sweet tea and even gave Kate a cup (upon seeing the still terrified girl's trembling figure) while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. But worst of all, for Harry and Kate at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry and Kate. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go—cupboard—stay—no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry and Kate lay in their dark cupboard much later, wishing they had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

He'd lived with the Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents and Kate's mum had died in that car crash. He couldn't remember being in the car when his parents had died. Sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and of course he was forbidden to ask questions. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take he and Kate away, but it had never happened. The Dursleys were his only family. He used to dream that Kate's father would come and take them away (Kate had always sworn to him that if her father were to come to take _her_ away, she wasn't going to leave without him). Sometimes, though, he thought (or maybe hoped) that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and Kate. After asking Harry furiously if he knew the man, Aunt Petunia had rushed them out of the shop without buying anything. A wild—looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry tried to get a closer look.

He knew he wasn't crazy, though, because Kate saw the exact same thing.

At school, Harry had no one except Kate. Everybody knew that Dudley's gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody like to disagree with Dudley's gang. Kate would probably have plenty of friends if she didn't hang around with him. In a lot of people's mind, hanging out with Harry was the worst crime anyone could commit, so that put Kate down low on the list too.

* * *

><p><strong>Crappy ending, yes, I know. But I hope you all enjoyed!<strong>

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Gasses**


	3. The Letters From No One

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

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_Not So Sirius_ - :)

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**Here's chapter three!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>The Letters from No One<span>

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry and Kate their longest-ever punishment. By the time they were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashing his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house very single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quit happy to join in Dudley's favorite sport: Harry/Kate hunting.

This was why Harry and Kate spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where she could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, they would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in their lives, they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry and Kate, on the other hand, were going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he told Harry and Kate. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No, thanks," said Harry.

"The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it," said Kate.

"It might be sick," finished Harry. Then they ran, before Dudley could work out what they'd said.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform, leaving Harry and Kate at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry and Kate watch television and gave them a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins. He looked so handsome and grown up. Harry didn't trust himself to speak, and obviously neither did Kate. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

"I'm going to get a camera," squeaked Kate, using it as an excuse to go off somewhere and laugh, and then she bolted out the door.

there was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry and Kate went for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" Kate asked her. Her lips tightened as they always did if they dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she said.

Kate looked down at the bowl again and so did Harry.

"Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished."

Kate and Harry shared exasperated looks, but thought it best not to argue. They sat down at the table and Harry tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High—like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Kate had it easy. Petunia actually bought her clothes, but they were mostly cheap and second hand. Still, though, she got her _own_ clothes.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

"Make Kate get it."

"Get the mail, girl."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Make Harry get it!"

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and—_a letter for Harry and Kate_

Harry pocked them up and stared at them, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, I their whole lives, had ever written to them. Who would? They had no friends, no other relatives—they didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, two letters, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake. The first one was addressed to Harry:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The second was addressed to Kate:

_Miss K. Lupin_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The envelopes were thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the addresses were written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.

Turning one envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter _H_.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at the letters. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. He completely forgot to give Kate hers.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's _mine_!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back. "And the other one's Kate's. Give it here!"

Kate looked up when Harry said that she had a letter.

"Who'd be writing to you two?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness—Vernon!"

they stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Kate and Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting Stick.

"I want to read those letters," he said loudly.

"_I_ want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's _mine_."

"Get out, all of you," croaked Uncle Vernon stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let _me_ see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall. He did the same with Kate and slammed the door behind her. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between the door and the floor.

"Why are you doing that?" said Kate. "I can here them from here."

Harry swatted at her, even though she was a good five feet away from him.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address—how could they possibly know where they sleep? You don't think they're watching the house?"

"Watching—spying—might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want—"

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…"

"But—"

"I'm not having one—much less two—in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear it when we took them in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

that evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to me—us?"

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned them."

"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "they had our cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful.

"Er—yes, Harry—about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you and the g—_Kate_—are really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

"Why?" said Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "When she gets done with her chores, taking this stuff upstairs."

And he left.

"What was that about?" asked Kate as she climbed onto the cot beside him.

"Uncle Vernon just gave us Dudley's second bedroom," Harry said.

Kate stared at him, "Really?"

"Really."

"Wow," she said thoughtfully, leaning back against the wall. "Whatever was in those letters must've really shaken him up."

"He burned them," Harry said angrily.

"What?"

"He _burned_ them. He burned the letters. He had no right! They were addressed to _us_!"

Kate sighed, "Harry, you knew that Vernon wouldn't let us read them if he knew we had them."

"Besides the point," Harry sighed. "C'mon. Uncle Vernon said that when you were done with your chores we had to take out stuff upstairs."

The Durlseys' house had four bedroom: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry and Kate one trip upstairs to move everything they owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat one. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't _want_ them in there… I _need_ that room… make them get out…"

Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed as Kate sat at the window. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today, he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it, and he couldn't tell that Kate felt the same way.

* * *

><p>Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall, or perhaps hid them both so that he Kate could read them together. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.<p>

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry and Kate, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting Stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's two more! 'Mr. H. Potter. The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey' and 'Miss K. Lupin, The Smallest Bedroom—"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry and Kate right behind him. uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter form him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone—even Kate, who was standing in the doorway, looking bewildered—got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon, straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard—I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry and Kate. "Dudley—go—just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room and Kate sat on the bed with her head in hands. Someone knew they had moved out of the cupboard and they seemed to know they hadn't received their first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.

"Whatever plan your thinking of, Harry," Kate said in a muffled voice, "don't do it. You're plans never turn out well."

"Just wait," Harry said smugly. "Just wait."

* * *

><p>The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. Kate watched him sleepily from the bed.<p>

"It's not gonna work," she mumbled.

Harry swatted at her and stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door—

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat—something _alive_!

Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror, Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen, aware of Kate standing in the doorway giving him a small, sympathetic smile, and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, write into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see the six letters, three addressed to him and three to Kate.

"I want—" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letter into pieces before his eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't _deliver_ them, they'll just give up."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

* * *

><p>One Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry and Kate. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.<p>

Uncle Vernon stayed home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could get out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

"He's gone mad," Harry murmured to Kate as they watched him.

"Was he ever sane?" she murmured back.

Harry snorted.

* * *

><p>On Saturday day, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry and Kate found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the diary trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.<p>

"Who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" Dudley asked Harry and Kate in amazement.

"Whoever _doesn't_ want to talk to you," Kate said smartly. "And trust me, Dud, that's a lot of people."

* * *

><p>One Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.<p>

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today—"

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Durlseys and Kate ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one—

"Out! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized both Harry and Kate around the waist and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared argue.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked Kate as he helped her up.

Kate nodded, "Yeah."

Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffing in the backseat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and rive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. Kate eventually fell asleep on Harry's shoulder. By nightfall, Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Harry, and Kate shared a room with three twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored, but Harry and Kate sat on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars, wondering….

* * *

><p>They ate cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.<p>

"'Scuse me, but is one of you either Mr. H. Potter or Miss K. Lupin? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

She held up two letters so they could read the green ink addresses:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

And then:

_Miss. K. Lupin_

_Room 17_

_Railview Hotel_

_Cokeworth_

Harry made a grab for the letters but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

* * *

><p>"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and the top of a multilevel parking garage.<p>

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday—and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days of the week, because of television—then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his and Kate's birthdays were never exactly fun—last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and Kate a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

Kate looked at him with small smiled on her face, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Her birthday had been at the end of June, so she was already eleven.

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

it was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, slapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"

a toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

Kate and Harry gave each other disbelieving looks, but decided it best not to argue and climbed into the boat. It was freezing. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their neck and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shriveled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, thought the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blanket in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry and Kate were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry and Kate shivered, huddled together, trying to find comfortable positions and keep warm. Dudley's snored were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. They lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, though he might be warmer if it did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

Kate finished up the birthday cake she'd been drawing in the dirt on the floor. She drew him two candles and smiled at him. Harry smiled back. She really was a caring friend and he didn't know how he'd make it without her.

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… tine—maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him—three… two…

"Happy birthday, Harry," Kate whispered.

One…

BOOM.

The whole shake shivered and Harry and Kate sat bolt upright, staring at the door. someone was outside, knocking to come in.

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><p><strong>And here's chapter three! I hope you all enjoyed!<strong>

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**

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	4. The Keeper of the Keys

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**I know, I know, I changed the name AGAIN, but I decided to just to it as one big story. :)**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

_JustYourAverageWitch_ - I meant to take that part out. Guess I forgot. :$ Thanks for reviewing! Keep it up!

_Married 2 Fred Weasely_ - It's okay :) Keep reviewing!

_Blue Luver5000_ - Thanks for reviewing! Keep it up!

_viper marie Cahill_ - Kate is famous for both reasons and no, she cannot talk to snakes. She was just scared of the snake, that's all. Keep reviewing!

_Not So Sirius_ - She probably won't meet him until 3rd year. Sorry. :) Keep reviewing!

**Here's chapter four!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span>The Keeper of the Keys<span>

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands ("You idiot!" shouted Kate. "Having a rifle with children around! Really!"). Now they knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" he shouting, ignoring Kate. "I warn you—I'm armed!"

There was a pause. Then—

SMASH!

The door was hit with such force that it swung lean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy man of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into it frame. The noise from the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' teach, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…."

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"Well, there's Harry!" said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile. He felt Kate grab his hand.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

He looked over at Kate and his grin widened. "An' there's Kate!" he exclaimed. He looked down at Kate with a tenderness in his eyes that seemed off with his scraggly, wild appearance. "Yeh was only a baby last time I saw yeh too! Yeh got yeh dad's hair and eye color, but yeh got yeh mum's features!"

Kate's eyes darkened when the stranger mentioned her father, but brightened quickly when he mentioned that she had some appearance to her mother. Harry grinned at her and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Drusley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway—Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys as Harry and Kate looked at him in amazement, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing.

"And Kate," the giant continued, turning to her. "I know it's a little late, but I figured I'd bring yeh something anyways. Happy late birthday." He pulled out another box and handed it to her. Inside was another chocolate cake that said _Happy Late Birthday Kate_ written on it in red icing.

Kate and Harry looked up at the giant. "Thank you," said Kate quietly.

The giant grinned again and said, "Yeh're very welcome."

Harry meant to say thank you as well, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are you?"

Kate sighed exasperatedly and whacked him upside the head.

Harry yelped and glared at her as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Sorry 'bout him, sir," said Kate. "Sometimes he doesn't think."

The giant chuckled, "Quite all right, Kate. True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm. He did the same with Kate.

"What about that tea, then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say not ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace, they couldn't see what he was doing, but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath. He heard Kate sigh.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working—though Kate kept a good grip on Harry's hand. It was obvious that she still didn't completely trust the giant, and was ready to bolt at any second. And if she did have to run, she was taking Harry with her. As the giant slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

The giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

He passed the sausages to Harry and Kate. They were so hungry they had never tasted anything so wonderful, but they still couldn't take their eyes off the giant. Finally, as nobody seemed to explain anything, Harry said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

"Better," Kate murmured in his ear, making him crack a smile.

The giant chuckled at Kate, took a gulp of tea, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts—yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er—no," said Kate.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Kate said quickly, looking down.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should sorry! I know yeh weren't getting' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harry.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that these two children—Harry and Kate!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad.

"I know _some_ things," he said defensively. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. _Your_ world. _My _world. _Yer parents' world."_

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Harry and Kate each took a step back.

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry and Kate.

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," he said. "I mean, they're _famous_. You're _famous_. And so are you, Kate."

"What? My—my mum and dad weren't famous, were they? And Kate's?"

"Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers though his hair, fixing Harry and Kate with a bewildered stare. Harry and Kate exchanged nervous looks.

"Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell them anything!"

a braver man the Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke his ever syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told them? Never told them what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from them all these years?"

"Kept _what_ from us?" said Kate.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in a panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry—yer a wizard. Kate—yer a witch."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a _what_?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "An' yer a witch, Kate. An' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once ye've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Kate stretched out her hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to Miss K. Lupin, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. Harry took his, which read Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea and they both read their letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwgump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

Questions exploded inside of Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't decide which to ask fist. He and Kate shared looks. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"

"Seriously, Harry," Kate said exasperatedly. "_That's_ the first question you ask?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl—a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl—a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a not that Harry could read upside down.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Given Harry and Kate their letters._

_Taking them to buy their things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the not, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realized his mouth was open when Kate nudged him and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the fire-light.

"They're not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like to see a great Muggle like you stop them," he said.

"A what?" asked Kate curiously.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took them in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of them! Wizard and witch indeed!"

"You _knew_?" said Kate. "You _knew_ I'm a—a witch and Harry's a—a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "_Knew!_ Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that _school_—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, its was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed like she had been wanting to say this for years. Kate took Harry's hand again.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—abnormal. And then, Katherine, your mother and she went and got themselves blown up and we got landed with you as your father ran for the hills with his tail tucked between his legs!"

Kate stumbled back and Harry, who'd gone very white, pulled her into an embrace. As soon as he found his voice, he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter an' Madeline Lupin? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin not knowin' their own story when every kid in our world knows their names!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble getting' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, Kate, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh—but someone's gotta—yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Please, Hagrid," said Kate quietly, her eyes shut tight.

Hagrid sighed, looked at Kate sympathetically, and said, "Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh—mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with—with a person called—but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows—"

"Who?"

"Well—I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. as bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…"

Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Kate suggested gently, finally opening her amber eyes.

"Nah—can't spell it. All right—_Voldemort._" Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this—this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em too—some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry, Kate. didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him—an' he killed 'em. Horrible. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer mums an' dads were as good a witches an' wizards as I ever knew. Harry, yer parents were Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Kate, yer dad was a Gryffindor Prefect and yer mum was a Ravenclaw Prefect. Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you and yer parents, Harry, was all living while Madeline and Kate were visitn'—yer dad was on a mission for Dumbledore, Kate—on Holloween ten years ago. You two was just a year old. He came ter yer house an'—an'—"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad—knew yer parents, Harry, Kate, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find—anyway…

"You-Know-Who killed yer parents, Harry, and yer mum, Kate. An' then—an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing—he tried to kill you two, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead, Harry? that was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh—took care of yer mums an' dad an' yer house, even—but it didn't work on you, two, an' that's why yer famous. no one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age—the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before—and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching them sadly.

"Hagrid," Kate spoke timidly. "You said that Harry got his scar from being hit by a Dark curse. But you also said that he tried to kill both of us. So why don't I have one?"

"I guess that's just another part o' the myst'ry," Hagrid shrugged. And he continued before Kate could say anything else. "I took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…"

"Load of tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, brats," he snarled, ignoring the outraged look on Hagrid's face, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured—and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion—asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types—just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end—"

Kate bit her lip and shut her eyes tight again. She turned her face away, but Harry still saw the one tear that came down her cheek. He pulled her tighter against him and glowered at Vernon.

Hagrid, seeing this, leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley—I'm warning you—one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor. His voice became considerably gentler as he spoke to Kate, "Don' yeh listen to a word he says, Kate. Not a word."

Kate gave him a small, watery smile.

Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol—sorry—I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was getting' more an' more powerful—why'd he go?

"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.

"Most of reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you two finished him. there was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on—_I_ dunno what it was, no one does—but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harry and Kate with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. The only real highlight to his life was having Kate as a friend and as a sister. If he really was a wizard, why hadn't the Dursleys been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock he and Kate in the cupboard. Why hadn't he been able to get Kate and him out of that retched house? If he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

"It makes sense, doesn't Harry?" Kate said quietly, looking at him sadly. "All those 'accidents' you and I have had? All those things that we couldn't explain? What other explanation is there?"

Hagrid chuckled, "Right you are, Kate. Have you ever made things happen when you was scared or angry, Harry? Made things happen that you couldn't explain? There's your answer."

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it… ever odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him and Kate had happened when they had been upset or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach… dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at them. Kate smiled softly.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard—you wait, you and Kate'll be famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going down without a fight.

"Haven't I told you they're not going" he hissed. "They're going to Stonewall High and they'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and they need all sorts of rubbish—spell book and wands and—"

"If they want ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop them," growled Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son an' Madeline Lupin's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Their name's been down ever since they was born. They're off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and they won't know themselves. They'll be with youngsters of their own sort, fer a change, an' they'll be under the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH THEM MAGIC TRICS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head. "NEVER—" he thundered, "—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley—there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Kate and Harry looked at each other—maybe it was the stress of the day or maybe it was just that funny—but they burst into hysterical laughter.

Hagrid chuckled a bit, looked down at his umbrella, and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said, not sounding at all regretful, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

Kate covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Hagrid cast a sideways look at Harry and Kate under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful it yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff—one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job—"

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Harry!" Kate sighed, but Harry paid her no attention.

"Oh, well—I was at Hogwarts meself, but I—er—got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?"

Kate shook her head exasperatedly and muttered just loud enough so that the others could hear, "There's no hope for him."

"It's getting' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer book an' that."

He took of his thick black coat and threw it to Harry and Kate.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

Kate and Harry looked at each other.

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><p><strong>And there's chapter four! I hope you all enjoyed!<strong>

**I'm sorry I have not updated Jacob's Angel, but I just don't have any inspiration for the next chapter. I'll try and update it soon! I promise!**

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	5. Diagon Alley

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

_JustYourAverageWitch_ - You'll just have to wait and see :) And thanks! Keep reviewing!

_katchile94_ - Thanks and I don't know yet. Keep reviewing!

_Blue Luver5000_ - :)

_Angel JJK_ - :)

**I would have had this chapter up yesterday, but my internent decided to stop working. Sorry.**

**Here's chapter five!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>Diagon Alley<span>

Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

"It was a dream," he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me and Kate that we were going to a school for wizards and witches. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard and Kate will be curled up against me just like she is now."

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his yes. It had been such a good dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled. "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. the hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Kate yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She grinned at him and said groggily, "You thought it was a dream, didn't you?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The own swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl the fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

Kate yelped and scrambled away.

"Don't do that."

Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl—"

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?"

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."

Kate started to search. Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets—Kate pulled out bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, she pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?"

"The little bronze ones."

Kate counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his leg so she could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.

"Best be off, Harry, Kate, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um—Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"We haven't got any money—and you heard Uncle Vernon last night…. He won't pay for us to go and learn magic."

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed—"

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold—an' I wouldn' say know to a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have _banks_?"

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Kate dropped the bit of sausage she was holding.

"_Goblins?"_

"Yeah—so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Kate. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe—'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually get me ter do important stuff fer him. fetchin' you—getting' things from Gringotts—knows he can trust me, see.

"Got everythin'? Come on, then."

Harry and Kate followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boy Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Kate asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"_Flew?"_

"Yeah—but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

Kate looked particularly sick at the idea of getting back in that boat, but settled down in it anyway. Harry was still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry and Kate another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said Harry, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells—enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way—Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."

Harry sat and thought about this while Kate looked out over the ocean, and Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult; he'd never had so many questions in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" asked Kate, looking over at Hagrid.

"'Course," said Hagrid, smiling at her. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

"But what does a Ministry of Magic _do_?"

"Well, their main job is to keep if from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone."

At this moment, the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry, Kate? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as they ran to keep up, "did you say there are _dragons_ at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd _like_ one?" said Kate disbelievingly.

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid—here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who did understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to Kate so she could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat kintting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still go yer letters?" he asked as he counted stitches.

Kate took the parchment envelope out of her pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Kate unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before and the both read it:

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain word robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells_ (grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot

_Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling.

_A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch

_One Thousand magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore

_Magical Draughts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

* * *

><p>Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck int eh ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.<p>

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator teat led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry and Kate had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Harry hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told him so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. in fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he, Hagrid, and Kate could see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid steered them inside.

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old woman were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hands on Harry and Kate's shoulder, making their knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and Kate, "is this—can this be—?"

The leaky cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin… what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushing toward Harry and Kate and seized Harry and Kate's hands, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, Miss Lupin, welcome back."

Harry and Kate didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at them. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Harry and Kate barely had time to exchange glances before there was a great scraping of chairs. The next moment, they found themselves shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Miss Lupin, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand—I'm all a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, Miss Lupin, just can't tell you. Diggle's the name. Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. Kate nodded in agreement. "You bowed to us once in a shop."

"The remember!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? They remember me!"

Harry and Kate shook hands again and again—Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Kate, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, and then Kate's. "L-Lupin. C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

"What sort of magic to you teach, Professor Quirrell?" asked Kate kindly, although she was eying him wearily. There was something off about him…

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter, L-Lupin?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very though.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry and Kate to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. at last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on—lets ter buy. Come on, Harry, Kate."

"Doris Crockford shook Harry and Kate's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry and Kate.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you two was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh—mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?" asked Kate.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some first hand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag—never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject—now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming. Kate, however, had narrowed eyes. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up… two across…" he muttered. "Right, stand back, you two."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered—it wriggled—in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

"Wow…" Kate breathed.

He grinned at their amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible, said a sign handing over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad…"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry and Kate's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever—" There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy while building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was—

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. the goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. he had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors,_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"Oh, my," Kate murmured.

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid, Harry, and Kate made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's and Miss Katherine Lupin's safes."

"You have their keys, sir?"

"Got them here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin and Kate wrinkled their noses. Harry watched the gobbling on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up two tiny golden keys.

The goblin looked at them closely.

"That seems to be in order."

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid. "I will have someone take you down to all three vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he, Harry, and Kate followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. Harry, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Hagrid with some difficulty—and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering.

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the car, "what the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Stalactites grow on the ceiling," Kate explained, staring at Hagrid worriedly. "Stalagmite's grow on the ground. Stalactite's have to hold on _tight_. That's how I remember."

When the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts."

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harry's—it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry and Kate cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London.

Hagrid and Kate helped him pile some of it into a bag.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained. "Seventeen silver sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Miss Kate's vault, now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

Five minutes later, they were arriving at another vault. Griphook unlocked the door and more green smoke came out of this one too. Kate stepped in and looked around. Her piles of gold, silver, and bronze were considerably smaller than Harry's, but it was just enough. She gathered some into a bag and handed it to Hagrid.

"Right," said Hagrid. He turned to Griphook a grin. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen, now please, and this'll be our last stop."

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. Kate grinned at Harry in amusement.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stoked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often to you check to see if anyone's inside?" asked Kate.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure, and he leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least—but at first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

* * *

><p>One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry didn't know where to run first now that he had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life—more money than even Dudley had ever had.<p>

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Kate, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry and Kate entered Madam Malkin's shop by themselves, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry and Kate started to speak. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stood next to him, and Kate on one next to Harry. She called another witch to start on Kate. She then slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

He was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in, yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute. He and Kate exchanged looks.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and Kate and pointing at the three large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Kate. She was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" said the boy with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that' what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not he same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you don't, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.

"And you're finished as well, dear," the other woman told Kate. She hopped down from her footstool too.

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the ice cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as your wrote. When they had left the shop, he said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know—not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. Kate nodded. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's.

"—and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in—"

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were—he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizarin' folk. You saw that everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles—look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like—like soccer in the Muggle world—everyone follows Quidditch—played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls—sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" asked Kate.

"School Houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but—"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily.

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol—sorry—You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?" said Kate.

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harry and Kate's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid and Kate almost had to drag Harry away from _Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope for both Harry and Kate. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry and Kate, they examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glitter-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry and Kate's lists again.

"Just yer wand left—oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh birthday presents."

Harry felt himself go red. So did Kate.

"Hagrid, my birthday was last month—"

"You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at—an' I don't like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry and Kate now carried large cages that held two beautiful snowy owls. Harry's a girl, Kate's a boy. They were brother and sister. The owner had said that they were fiercely loyal to anyone who owned them and that they stuck by each other no matter what. Both of them were fast asleep with their heads under their wing. Harry and Kate couldn't stop stammering their thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now—only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

A magic wand… this was what Harry ahd been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence here seemed to tings with some secret magic.

He and Kate exchanged nervous glances.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry and Kate both jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Hi," Kate murmured.

"Ah, yeh," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd bee seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He turned to Kate. "And Katherine Lupin. "I remember your mother walking in here as well. Nine inches, springy, made of oak. You have your mother's features, miss."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to them. Harry wished he could blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

He addressed Harry, "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And that's where…"

Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, seventeen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you go expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er—yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got he pieces, though," he added brightly.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now—Mr. Potter, we'll do you and then Miss Lupin. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er—well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it," he measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter, Miss Lupin. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tap measure, which was measuring between his nostrils (much to Kate's obvious amusement), was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at one.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—"

But, apparently, the wand didn't like Harry, as it flew out of Harry's hand the moment he touched it and flew right into Kate's. The moment her hand and the wand connected, a brilliant, golden light filled the room. A light breeze ruffled her hair and she stared at the wand in amazement. "Ah," Mr. Ollivander said, nodding. "I believe we've found your wand, Miss Lupin."

Kate nodded absently, still staring at the wand as Hagrid whooped and clapped.

"Here, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Harry another wand. "Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh?" not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped as he had done for Kate and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well, how curious… how very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper. He did the same with Kate's. He was still muttered, "Curious…. Curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave two more feathers—just two. One, is in Miss Lupin's. It is very curious indeed that you and Katherine should be destined for these wands when their brother—why, their brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter, Miss Lupin… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great.

"You two are very powerful," Mr. Ollivander went on. "Very powerful indeed."

Harry and Kate shivered. They weren't sure they liked Mr. Ollivander too much. They paid seven gold Galleons each for theirs wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from the shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry, Kate, and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry and Kate didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; Harry didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owls asleep in their cages on Harry and Kate's lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bit to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry and Kate hamburgers and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow. Kate reached over and took his hand, squeezing it.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of his life—and yet—he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I—we—are special," he said at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic at all. how can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol—sorry—I mean, the night my parents and Kate's mum died."

Kate looked down and let her hand fall back to her side, "I was just thinking the same thing."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, you two. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have great times at Hogwarts—I did—still do, 'smatter of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry and Kate on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed each of them an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "First o' September—King's Cross—it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a litter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me… See yeh soon, Harry, Kate."

The train pulled out of the station. Harry and Kate tried to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; Harry rose out of his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid was gone.

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><p><strong>Wow. Long chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!<strong>

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**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	6. Platform 9 and 34

**I OWN NOTHING!**

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**Here's chapter six!**

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* * *

><p><span>The Journey From Platform Nine and Three Quarters<span>

Harry and Kate's last month with the Durlsyes wasn't fun. True, Dudley was now so scared of Harry and Kate that he wouldn't stay in the same room, while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't shut them in their cupboard, force them to do anything, or shout at them—in fact, they didn't speak to them at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair with Harry or Kate in it were empty. Although this was improvement in many ways, it did become a bit depressing after a while.

Harry and Kate kept to their room, with their new owls for company. Harry had decided to call his own Hedwig, a name he had found in _A History of Magic_. Kate had decided to call hers Jerold, also found in _A History of Magic_. Their school books were very interesting. They would lay on the bed reading late into the night, Hedwig and Jerold swooping in and out of the open window as they pleased. It was lucky that aunt Petunia didn't come in to vacuum anymore, because the owls kept bringing back dead mice. Every night before he went to sleep, Harry ticked off another day on the piece of paper he had pinned to the wall, counting down to September the first.

On the last day of August he thought he'd better speak to Petunia and Vernon about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. Harry cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and Dudley screamed and ran from the room.

"Er—Uncle Vernon?" said Harry.

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening.

"Er—Kate and I need to be at King's Cross tomorrow to—to go to Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave us a lift?"

Grunt. Harry supposed that meant yes.

"Thank you."

He was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Harry didn't say anything.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He pulled the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket.

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"It's on my ticket."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just wait. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross. We're going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why are you going to London?" Harry asked, trying to keep things friendly.

"Taking Dudley to the hospital," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings."

Harry walked back upstairs.

"Well?" Kate asked. She was sitting at the windowsill, stroking Jerold's head.

"He said he'll take us," said Harry. "He said that if he wasn't going to London to get Dudley's tail removed, he wouldn't bother."

Kate snorted in amusement, "Wonder how they'll explain _that_ one."

Harry grinned.

* * *

><p>Harry woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too nervous and excited to go back to sleep. Kate was sitting on the windowsill, already dressed. She grinned at him. Harry got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn't want to walk into the station in his wizard robes—he'd change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Harry and Kate's huge, heavy trunks had been loaded into the Dursleys' car. Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Kate—who'd be sitting in the middle—and they were off.<p>

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry and Kate's trunks into two carts and he and Petunia wheeled them into the station for them. Harry thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

"Well, there you are, you two. Platform nine—platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without a word. Harry and Kate turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Harry's mouth went rather dry. What on earth were they going to do? They were starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig and Jerold. He and Kate exchanged panicked looks. They'd have to ask someone.

They stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. The guard had never heard of Hogwarts and when they couldn't even tell him what part of the country it was in, he started to get annoyed, as though they were being stupid on purpose. Getting desperate, they asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end, the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harry and Kate were now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, they had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and they had no idea how to do it; they were stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk they could hardly lift, two pocket fulls of wizard money, and two large owls.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell them something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. Harry wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind them and they caught a few words of what they were saying.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Harry and Kate swung around. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry and Kate's in front of him—and they had an owl.

Harry and Kate looked at each other; they seemed to come to a silent agreement. Hearts hammering, they pushed their carts after them. They stopped and so did Harry and Kate, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. "Mum, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry and Kate watched, careful not to blink in case they missed it—but just as they boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you _tell_ I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone—but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier—he was almost there—and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Kate said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dears," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Kate. "The thing is—the tings is, we don't know how to—"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry and Kate nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared or you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"I'll go," said Kate.

She broke out at a run towards the barrier and a second later, she was gone.

"See?" said the woman, smiling knowingly at Harry's nervous face. "Nothing to worry about. Go on, now."

"Er—okay,' said Harry.

he pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into the barrier and then he'd be in trouble—leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run—the barrier was coming nearer and nearer—he wouldn't be able to stop—the cart was out of control—he was a foot away—he closed his eyes ready for the crash—

It didn't come… he kept on running… he opened his eyes.

Kate stood grinning at him. a scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry and Kate grinned at each other, then pushed their carts off down the platform in search of an empty seat. They passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, _Neville_," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry and Kate pressed on through the crowd until they found an empty compartment near the end of the train. They put Hedwig and Jerold inside first and then they started to shove and heave Harry's trunk toward the train door. They tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice, Harry dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins they'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted and Kate nodded.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's and Kate's trunks were at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightening scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you—?"

"He _is_," said the first twin. He turned to Kate, "Then you must be—aren't you?" he added to them.

"What?" said Harry and Kate.

"_Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin_," chorused the twins.

"Oh them," said Harry. "I mean, yes, we are."

"Seriously?" snorted Kate. She turned back to the twins, "Call me Kate."

The two boys gawked at them, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Harry and Kate, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"_Mum_—geroff," he wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny red-and-gold badge on his chest with the letter _P_ on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh, are you a _prefect_, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something. We had no idea."

"Hang on I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

Kate, who'd moved to the other window seat and was also listening, snorted.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a _prefect_," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've—you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea thought, thanks, Mum."

"It's _not funny_. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Harry and Kate leaned back quickly so they couldn't see them looking.

"You know that black-haired boy and the girl with auburn hair who were near us in the station? Know who they are?"

"Who?"

"_Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin!"_

They heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train ad see them, Mum, oh please…"

"You've already seen them, Ginny, and the poor children aren't something you goggle at in a zoo. Are they really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked them. Saw Harry's scar. It's really there—like lightening."

"Poor _dears_—no wonder they were alone, I wondered. Katherine was every so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think they remember what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask them, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though they need reminding of that on their first day at school."

"Thank you," Harry heard Kate mutter quietly.

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"_George!"_

"Only joking, Mum."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered to much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to—but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

He and Kate grinned at each other.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in.

"Anyone sitting here?" he asked. "Everywhere else is full."

"Go ahead," Kate said, standing and sliding into the seat beside Harry so that the boy could sit in the seat opposite him.

The boy glanced at Harry and Kate and then quickly looked out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train—Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry, Kate," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," said Harry, Kate, and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter and Katherine Lupin?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded and Kate said, "Call me Kate."

"Oh—well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. He addressed Harry, "And have you really got—you know…"

He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who—?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well—I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He stared at Harry and Kate for a few moments. Then, as thought he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry, who found Ron just as interesting as Ron found him.

"Er—yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron. "What are they like?"

"Horrible," said Kate.

"Well, not all of them," said Harry. "My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. wish I'd had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left—Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff—I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Kate was frowning at Ron. "There's nothing wrong with not being able to afford an owl," she said softly. "After all, Harry and I have never had any money in our lives until a month ago. We didn't even know what we where until a month ago. Harry's had to wear Dudley's—his cousin's—old clothes and I've always got mine from the second hand store. We've never got any proper birthday presents. We know what that feels like, but the difference between our situation and yours, Ron, is that your family _cares_, even if they have their own way of showing it."

Ron stared at Kate in surprise and then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Harry then proceeded to tell him how they had found out what they were.

"… and until Hagrid told us, we didn't know anything about being a wizard and a witch or about or parents or Voldemort—"

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Harry.

"_You said You-Knows-Who's name!"_ said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you of all people—"

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," said Harry. "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," he added, voicing for the first time to someone other than Kate something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in eh corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Kate politely declined (even though Harry knew she absolutely loved chocolate) and he, who had not had any breakfast, leapt to his feet. He bought Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron and Kate stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?" said Ron.

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bit out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled on of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on—"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry.

"What are these?" Kate asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not _really _frogs, are they?"

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know—Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect—famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Kate unwrapped her Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!" she said.

Harry leant over interestedly.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "can I have a frog. I might get Agrippa—thanks—"

Kate turned over the card and read aloud:

"'Albus Dumbledore, currently headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.'"

Harry took the card and turned it back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself, but I warn you, Kate can be vicious if you take her chocolate away," Harry said, laughing when Kate smacked him upside the head. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. _"Weird!"_

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry and Kate. "When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor—you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger-flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh—see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans, Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, and strawberry and Kate got curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry and Kate had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. he looked tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Kate reassuringly.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…"

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried tot urn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway—"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er—all right."

He cleared his throat.

"_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow_

_turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Ron, is that a real—" Kate started softly, but the girl cut her off.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was every so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron, and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Katherine Lupin," Kate said.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and great _Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. Both of you."

"Are we?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." She turned to Katherine, "Would you like to come with me to change?"

"Thanks," Kate muttered. She grabbed her Hogwarts robes and she, Hermione, and the toadless boy left.

"Whatever House I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell—George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What House are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the House Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off Houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with Muggles—someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry stared.

"Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-know-Who's behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying "Voldemort" without worrying.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Er—I don't know any," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world—" And he was fof, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, Hermione Granger, or even Kate this time.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it? And the girl is Katherine Lupin?"

"Yes," Harry said just as Kate walked back in. Harry was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight couch, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry and Kate, who was still standing in the door and was now glaring at Draco. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter, Lupin. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco shrugged and turned to Kate, holding his hand out to her.

Kate only glared at him, "_Sorry_, but I don't go making friends with people who insult my _actual_ friends."

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter, Lupin," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you. And you," he turned to Kate with a sneer, "I think you've already learned that lesson. Perhaps your attitude is the reason your father left you on a Muggle's doorstep."

Both Harry and Ron stood up.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out now," said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron or Kate.

"But we don't' feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron—Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle—Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they'd heard footsteps, because a second later, Hermione Granger had come up.

"What has been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No—I don't believe it—he's gone back to sleep."

But Harry was paying no attention to either of them. He walked over to Kate—who was standing in the corner, clenching and unclenching her fists—and said, "Are you alright, Kate?"

Kate gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asked them.

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right—I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," said Hermione in a sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down.

Kate slipped silently outside so that they could change.

Harry and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looking paler under his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined Kate outside, and then joined the crowds thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the head so the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Fir's years over here! All right there, Harry, Kate?"

Hagrid's big, hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs! Years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Ooooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry, Kate, and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

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><p><strong>FINALLY! I thought I'd never get this one finished!<strong>

**_VERY IMPORTANT!_ I have a poll up on my profile about this story. It's about who Kate should be paired with (later on in the story, of course). Please, please, please vote! It would be much appreciated.**

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	7. The Sorting Hat

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

_JustYourAverageWitch_ - You'll just to read and find out :) Keep reviewing!

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_Angell JJK_ - :)

_Zippy Redbird_ - Thanks :) Keep reviewing!

**Here's chapter seven.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>The Sorting Hat<span>

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Durlseys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right—the rest of the school must already be here—but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, you triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great, honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet—what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

"I'm sure it's nothing painful," Kate whispered. Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air—several people behind him screamed.

"What the—?"

he gasped. So did the people around him. about twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we out to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him and Kate behind Ron, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History."_

"I did too," whispered Kate back, who was standing in front of Hermione. "It's fascinating, really."

Hermione grinned at her, obviously glad that someone finally understood.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stood in front of the first years. On top of the stood she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

_Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it_, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring a the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat my self if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you out to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind; _

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (thought I have none)_

_For I am a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry and Kate. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. That was Kate's job. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled of to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers cat calling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they like him.

"Flinch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stood. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When if finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" Neville ran off still wearing, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to put it onto the stool.

"Lupin, Katherine!"

Silence fell upon the Great Hall, and then everyone started whispering to each other.

"Katherine Lupin?"

"As in _the_ Katherine Lupin?"

Kate walked nervously up the stool, placed the hat on her head, and sat down. The whole Great Hall watched in silence—everybody craning to get a better look—as she sat on the stool, waiting on the Hat to make its decision. Harry felt his stomach jolt. What if Kate got Sorted into a different House than him? Would they see each other much—if it all?

After two full minutes, the Hat shouted—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, many standing up to eagerly shake Kate's hand as she sat down beside Percy with a shaky smile at all of them. Harry could hear the Weasley twins chanting, "We got Lupin! We got Lupin!"

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friend Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"…, "Nott"…, "Parkinson"…, then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"…, then "Perks, Sally-Anne"…, and then, at last—

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall, just as they had with Kate.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the back inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Just like Miss Lupin… difficult… Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin_.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took of the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet—apart from Kate. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" just as they had for Kate. Harry sat down beside Kate and opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him and Kate the thumbs up. Harry and Kate grinned back. And there, in the center of the High table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

"What happened while you had the Hat on your head?" Harry murmured to Kate as "Thomas, Dean," a black boy even taller than Ron, joined them at the Gryffindor table.

"It couldn't decide which House to put me in," Kate murmured back as "Turpin, Lisa" joined Ravenclaw. "It said that I had the wisdom of a Ravenclaw, the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, the cunning of a Slytherin, and the courage of a Gryffindor. It let me chose which House to be in."

"Same for me," Harry murmured. "Well, not exactly. It said that I would do well in all Houses, but recommended Slytherin—" Kate looked at him sharply "—but I told it no. So it said Gryffindor."

Kate nodded and now it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry and Kate clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to Harry. Kate gave him a thumbs up and grinned at him. Ron smiled back sheepishly.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. Kate obviously didn't either.

"Is he—a bit mad?" she asked Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry, Kate?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

He and Kate exchanged startled looks.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry and Kate, but they'd never been allowed to eat as much as they liked—although, Kate never did eat much of anything unless it was chocolate—even if it made them sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Kate cut up the small steak she'd put on her plate.

"Can't you—?" started Harry.

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpingotn at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you—you're Nearly Headless Neck!"

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan—who was sitting next to Sir Nicholas—interrupted.

"_Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ Headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

Kate seemed to know exactly where this was going and quickly said, "Sir Nicholas, you don't have too—"

"Like _this_," Nick said irritably, ignoring Kate. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the Cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

Kate grinned at Harry and helped herself to a chocolate éclair. As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.

"Well, my gran bought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the end of a Blackpoll pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was ganging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced—all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here—they thought I might be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

On Kate's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I _do_ hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—"; "You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—")

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hooked-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban and straight into Harry's' eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Kate.

"N-nothing."

Kate followed Harry's eyes and stared at the hooked-nosed teacher and Quirrell with narrowed eyes.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling that Harry had gotten from the teacher's look—a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all. The teacher stared past Harry and right at Kate. He saw her and sneered. It was Harry's turned to narrow his eyes as he moved slightly in front of the man's line of vision.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to—everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look back at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should not that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interest in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did. Kate look startled.

"He's not serious?" she muttered to Percy.

"Must be," said Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere—the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly of the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff._

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different time. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase, Harry's' legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves—show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Icle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Barons' the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it—Neville needed a leg up—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another.

"Goodnight, Harry," Kate murmured sleepily as she walked by him.

"'Night, Katie," Harry murmured back, using the old nickname he'd given her when they were little. He always used it if she'd had a nightmare or if she was crying, which wasn't often.

Kate smiled at him and headed up the stairs.

At the top of a spiral staircase—they were obviously in one of the towers—they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron murmured to Harry through the hangings. "Get _off_, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once—and to take Kate with him—because it was their destinies. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it—then Malfoy turned into the hooked-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he didn't remember the dream at all, even though he'd really wanted to talk to Kate about.

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><p><strong>And there's chapter seven! I hope you all enjoyed!<strong>

**I'm going to go ahead and give you all two warnings:**

**1.) Hermione will still be a part of their little quartet, but she won't be as big a character as she was when it was just the trio.**

**2.) There will be no Ron/Hermione pairing. I do not like that pairing at all, I'm sorry. I don't know who I'll pair Ron with if he doesn't win the poll for who Kate will be paired with but I'll figure it out.**

**Speaking of my poll, its still up! Please, please, please, please, please get on and vote! It would be much appreciated.**

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	8. The Potions Master

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

lostfeather1 - Don't worry, I don't like Ginny at all (sorry all Ginny/Harry fans!) But I don't think I'm going to pair Kate and Harry together. Sorry. Keep reviewing!

Blue Luver5000 - :) Here's the next chapter!

**Here's chapter eight!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>The Potions Master<span>

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see her face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry and Kate from the moment they left their dormitories the next day. People lining up outside of classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at them, or double back to pass them in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate of finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Kate, and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appeared, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and one while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Kate's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. He did the same with Harry.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger and Kate had made any difference to her match. Much to Hermione Granger's displeasure, Kate had Transfigured hers completely (after many tries, of course). Professor McGonagall showed the class how the matches had changed and gave both Hermione and Kate a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry, Ron, and Kate. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them—we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us," said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig and Jerold hadn't brought Harry or Kate anything so far. They sometimes flew in to nibble Harry's and Kate's ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, Hedwig fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Jerold did the same with Kate. The each tore their notes open at once. Harry's said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry, _

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. I've sent Kate a letter too. Send us an answer back with Hedwig (or Jerold, in Kate's case)._

_Hagrid_

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled _Yes, please, see you later_ on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again. Kate scribbled her own reply and sent Jerold off.

It was lucky that Harry and Kate had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the worst thing that happened to them so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea the Professor Snape dislike him. by the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong—he _hated_ him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the prickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call. When he got to Kate's name, he sneered. And when he got to Harry's name, he paused.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. One of our _two_ new—_celebrities_."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Carbbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whispered, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed his little speech. Harry, Ron, and Kate all exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't s dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, thought, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed.

"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione. He suddenly barked, "Lupin! Do you perhaps know the answers?"

Kate met his glare easily, "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will safe you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite, _sir_."

Snape paused for a moment and then sneered, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Kate caught Seamus eye and he winked. There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point each will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek Potter, Lupin."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron and Kate, who was sitting in front of them, gave him a warning look.

"Don't push it," Ron muttered. "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week—_why_ did Snape hate him so much.

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you two?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice ran out, saying, "_Back_, Fang—_back_."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry, Ron, and Kate pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Kate stroked Fang's head as the massive dog curled into her side and drooled all over her robes. She'd always had a soft spot for dogs.

They were all delighted to heard Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her—Filch put her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape like hardly any of the students. He did, however, praise Kate on her knowing the apparently _sixth year_ questions.

"But he seemed to _really_ hate me," Harry persisted.

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why would he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot—great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_.

**GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST**

Investigations continue into the break-in at Grin-

gotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of

Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing

had been taken. The vault that was searched had in

fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there,

so keep your noses out if you know what's good

for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this after-

noon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It must've been happening while we were there!"

there was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. _The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day._ Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for. Harry and Kate exchanged looks.

As Harry, Kate, and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell them?

* * *

><p><strong>This was a boring chapter to write. *Sigh*<strong>

**Anyway, I have closed the poll! I got a considerable amount of votes and decided that it was enough. I'm not going to tell you who won thought! You'll see in fifth or sixth year! Well, you may figure it out sooner, I don't know.**

**Anyway, review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	9. The Midnight Duel

**I OWN NOTHING!**

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**Here's chapter nine!**

**Enjoy!**

The Midnight Duel

Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first-year Gyrffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday—and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else. Kate didn't seem all that enthused. She had always preferred to stay on the ground ("I don't have a problem with heights," Kate had said when Harry had asked her at the beginning of the semester. "I can ride in a plane or whatever, but the fact that all I have to hold onto is a _broomstick_—thanks, but no thanks."

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron to Harry reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggle helicopters. He wasn't the only one, thought: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick (he loved to tell Kate about all the life-or-death experiences he'd had on his broomstick). Even Ron could tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly, Ron had already had a big argument with Death Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as nervous as flying as Neville was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book—not that she hadn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bored them all with stupid flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry and Kate hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things—this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red—oh…" his face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten ("You'll remember it, Neville," Kate said reassuringly) when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet—they were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy. Kate sighed and turned her attention back to her breakfast. Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Kate, Ron, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry and Kate had heard Fred and George complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew to high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. It took Kate two tries. Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three-two—"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and—

WHAM—Kate gasped in horror—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy—it's alright, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in.

To Harry's great surprise, Kate—who'd never spoken up against Malfoy—snapped, "Shut up, Malfoy. I'd like to see your reaction after falling a good twenty-five feet. No better than Neville's, I'd expect."

The Gryffindors sniggered.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Katherine."

Both Harry and Ron scowled furiously at her.

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

HermioneHHHermione's lecture

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with them topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."

Kate looked as though she very much agreed, but she obviously believed in defending their friend more, so she kept quiet.

Harry ignored Hermione. Blood was pounding in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him—and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught—this was easy, this was _wonderful._ He pulled the broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

He turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy."

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down—next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball—wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching—"HARRY!" he heard Kate scream—he stretched out his hand—a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he topple gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his feet.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed as he and Kate rushed over. "That was brilliant, Harry!"

"You idiot!" Kate snapped, slapping him upside the head, but Harry saw a smile tugging at her lips. He grinned at her.

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

"_Never_—in all my time at Hogwarts—"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how _dare_ you—might have broken you neck—"

"It's wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Lupin—"

"But Malfoy—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He was going to be sent back to the Dursleys, but this time, he wouldn't have Kate there with him. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, and still Professor McGonagall didn't say a word to him. She wrenched open doors and marched along corridors with Harry trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore. He thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps he could be Hagrid's assistant. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watching Kate, Ron, and the others becoming witches and wizards while he stumped around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag. He thought of Kate. What would he do at the Dursleys by himself most of the year? The only reason he hadn't gone insane already is because he'd had Kate there. She'd always known how to keep him on track.

Professor McGonagall stopped outside a classroom. She opened the door and poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? Thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a can she was going to use on him?

But Wood turned out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor McGonagall, and they marched on up the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Professor McGonagall pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Our, Peeved!" she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I've found you a Seeker."

Wood's expression changed from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," said Professor McGonagall crisply. "The boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently. He didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall told Wood. "Didn't even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked excitedly.

"Wood's captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained.

"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. "Light—speedy—we'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor—a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in the last match by Slytherin. I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…"

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you."

Then she suddenly smiled.

"Your father would have been proud," she said. "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"You're _joking_."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Ron and Kate what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"_Seeker_?" he said. "But first years _never_—you must be the youngest House player in about—"

"—a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He felt particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry. Kate rolled her eyes—almost fondly—reached over, and closed his mouth for him. Ron blushed. Harry grinned.

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Kate snorted, "I doubt _anything_ can be kept secret in Hogwarts."

"True," said Harry thoughtfully.

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go. Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. Kate threw him a sharp look. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked. You too, Lupin," he sneered, "you come too. I want you to watch as Potter gets his arse kicked."

Kate simply rolled her eyes and turned back to her Transfiguration book.

"What?" Malfoy said, a nasty smirk on his face. "Got nothing to say to defend your little boyfriend? Nothing to say to me?"

Ron and Harry scowled at Malfoy furiously.

"Oh, I've got a lot of things I could say to you," Kate said simply, looking up from the book, her eyes turning gold around the edges of the irises. "I just don't see the point in wasting my time with snotty, arrogant, _pure-blood_ gits like you."

Malfoy spluttered indignantly, turned on his heel, and marched of with a "Humph," Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

Harry and Ron laughed and high-fived Kate. "Nice, Kate," said Ron.

Harry grinned, nodded, and looked at Ron, "What _is_ a wizard's duel? And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie.

"Comforting," said Kate, glaring at Ron.

"But people only die in proper duels," Ron added quickly, smiling apologetically at Kate, "you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggested.

"Excuse me."

They all looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"—and you _mustn't_ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep (Neville wasn't back from the hospital wing). Ron had spent all evening giving him advice such as "If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them." there was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness—this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face—to defend himself and Kate. He couldn't miss it.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd better go."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. Kate met them at the bottom of the stairs. "You sure you want to do this?" she asked him quietly.

Harry nodded, "Unless you'd like to take my place."

Kate snorted.

They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry, Kate."

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

"_You!"_ said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy—he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this." She turned to Kate, "And _you_. I expected better from you. You seemed like you actually had some sense, but I guess I was wrong."

Harry couldn't believe someone could be so interfering. Kate looked as though she wanted to snap Hermione Granger's neck. Ron looked like he want to, too.

"Why do you care?" Kate snapped. "Why do you care if we get in trouble or not?"

Hermione glared at her, opened her mouth to retort, but Harry interrupted her.

"Come on," he said to Ron and Kate. he pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed Ron and Kate through the portrait hole, hissing at them like an angry goose.

"Don't you _care_ about Gryffindor, do you _only_ care about yourselves, _I_ don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you'll lose all the points Katherine and I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"Go away," Kate snapped.

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—"

but what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Ron. "We're got to go, we're going to be late."

They hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are _not_."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? if he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve—" said Ron loudly.

"Shut up, all of you!" said Kate sharply. "I heard something."

It was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squinting through the dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. It was Neville. He was curled up on the foot, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the new password to get into bed."

"Keep you voice down, Neville," Kate said quietly. "The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" said Harry.

"Fine," said Neville, showing tem. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good—well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—"

"Don't leave me!" said Neville, scrambling to his feet, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

"Alright, alright," said Kate.

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione and Neville.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."

Hermione opened her mouth, perhaps to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry and Kate hissed at her to be quiet and beckoned them all forward.

They flitted along the corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbed weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once. The minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the others to follow him as quickly as possible; Harry grabbed Kate's wrist and they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed Ron around the waist, and the pair of them topple right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—they swung around the doorpost and galloped down on corridor then another, Harry in the lead with Kate's wrist tight in his grasp, without any idea where they were going—they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it an came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Kate leaned back beside him and gently tugged her wrist out of his iron like grip. Harry gave her an apologetic look.

"I—_told_—you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I—told—you."

"Oh, be quiet," Kate snapped.

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you—Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Kate snapped. "Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get cauhgty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," Kate pleaded.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves—this was a big mistake.

"Ron!" Kate moaned, slapping a hand to her forehead just as Peeves bellowed—

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Harry grabbed Kate's wrist again. Ducking under Peeves, they all ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as he, Harry, and Neville pushed helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeve's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Kate snapped. She pulled out her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, _"Alohomora!"_

Hermione glared at her as the lock clicked and the door swung open, "I was just about to—"

"Oh, be quiet," Kate snapped and she pushed her into the room. The rest of them piled in as well, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.'"

"Don't mess with me, peeves, now _where did they go?"_

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right—_please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered.

"Harry," Kate whispered.

"I think we'll be okay—"

"Harry!" Kate said again, more urgently.

"_What?"_

Kate pointed to something behind them, her face ghostly white.

Harry turned around—and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery robes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Kate groped for the doorknob and Harry grabbed her other hand.

They fell backward—Harry slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs. It took Harry a moment to realize he was still gripping Kate's hand tightly, but when he tried to pull away, she gripped his, preventing him from letting go. He smiled shakily at her.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" she snapped. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"I don't know, the floor?" said Harry. "Sorry, I was to busy with it's _heads_."

"A trapdoor," said Kate, nodding at Hermione. "It was standing on a trapdoor. It's guarding something."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled—_smiled_—at Kate. But then she stood and glared furiously at Harry and Ron, "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

But Hermione and Kate had given Harry something else to think about. The dog was guarding something… What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts.

Kate nodded at Harry, obviously thinking along the same lines as him.

It looked as though they had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

**OH MY GOD! I'M SO SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T UPDATED! You see, my great-grandmother passed away on Monday, so it was hectic those few days. And then on Thursday night I started watching Punk'd (who else loves it?) and got distracted. And then last night my computer decided to be a bitch. So it's not completely my fault.**

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	10. Chapter 10

**OHMIGOSH! I'M SO SORRY!**

Yes, I know this is just an author's note, but I promise, I will have a new chapter up either later today or tomorrow!

I do have a reason for not updating though…

I kinda got grounded off the computer for a month for putting some 'language' in my stories. I was also supposed to delete my account on and never get on it again. But I'm not going to do that. I'm out of school for summer and I'm at home alone, so I can still write and post, but I'll have to be careful. My mom has a habit of checking to see what all I've gotten on, so if I'm not careful, she'll know that I'm still writing stories. So my updates will be slower than they were before, but I promise that I won't make you wait a month!

I just thought I'd clear that up.

But I will update this story and my other two stories either later today or tomorrow. I promise!


	11. Halloween

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to those who reviewed!**

Schnuff - You know, if you really don't like this story that much, there's a simple solution: _Don't read it._

Rubyred3107 - Thank you very much! I don't hate Hermione, I just don't like her as much as I do the other characters. She's always gotten on my nerves, for some reason.

amcgrath - :)

Blue Luver5000 - :)

**Here's chapter ten!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>Halloween<span>

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. Kate told the point blank that if they decided to go again, they better leave her out of it. In the meantime, Harry and Kate filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry, Ron, and Kate, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they all saw this as an added bonus. All Ron and Harry really wanted now was a way of getting back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

_Professor M. McGonagall_

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the not to Ron to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even _touched_ one."

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class—they even managed to persuade Kate to come with them—but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."

Ron couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy," Kate snapped.

Malfoy sneered at her, "Need I remind you, Lupin, of what happened on the pitch the other day?"

Kate only smirked, "I may be afraid of heights, Malfoy, but I'm not the one that nearly fell of the broom when a _bird_ flew by."

Before Malfoy could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Malfoy quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. "And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it," he added.

Kate pursed her lips and Ron disguised a snort with a cough.

"Yes, yes," said Flitwick. "Maybe you three should take that broom upstairs. You don't want to be late for your first class."

"Yes, sir."

"Come alone, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle," Flitwick said. "You have no business near Gryffindor Tower."

Once Flitwick, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were gone, Harry turned to Kate, "Afraid of heights?"

Now that Malfoy was gone, Kate's calm façade disappeared and she studied her shoes. Hoisting her bag over her shoulder, she said, "I think I'm going to head to first class. Like Flitwick said, I don't want to be late."

And she was gone.

Ron and Harry headed upstairs, still smothering their laughter at Malfoy's obvious rage and confusion.

"I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hand.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off the Quidditch field where he'd be learning the play that nigh, or on Kate, and her newfound fear of heights. He bolted his dinner that evening without noticing what he was eating, and then rushed upstairs with Ron to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled on to Harry's bedspread.

Even Harry, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus two Thousand written in gold near the top.

"Ron, what happened after McGonagall took me to see would during flying lessons the other day?" Harry asked. "With Kate."

"Oh," Ron put down the broom. "Kate was fine until she got about twenty feet in the air. She looked down and she sort of… froze, I guess. She wouldn't move. Madam Hooch had to come up and get her down herself." He looked almost sympathetic toward Kate, but then he grinned. "Although, Kate wasn't lying about Malfoy almost falling off his broom because of a bird. He was soaring around like he was the Minister and a bird flew by; scared him so much he nearly fell."

Harry grinned.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. He'd never been inside the stadium before. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hopps on the end. They reminded Harry of little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that they were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly again to wait for wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling—he swooped in and out of the goalposts and then sped up and down the filed. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch.

"Hey, Potter, come down!"

Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry landed next to him.

"Very nice," said Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant… you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opened the crate. Inside were four different-sized balls.

"Right," said Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."

"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's call the Quaffle," said wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through on of the hopps to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hopps. Follow me?"

"The Chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recited. "So—that's sort of like basketball on broomsticks with six hoops, isn't it?"

"What's basketball?" said Wood curiously.

"Never mind," said Harry quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper—I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," said Harry, who was determined to remember it all. "And the play with the Quaffle. Okay, so got that. So what are they for?" He pointed at the three balls left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," said Wood. "Take this."

He handed Harry a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do," Wood said. "These two are the Bludgers."

He showed Harry two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Wood warned Harry. he bent down and freed on of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harry's face. Harry swung at it with the bat to stop if from breaking his nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air—it zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team—the Weasley twins are ours—it's there job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So—think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try and score with the Quaffle; the Keeper guards the goalposts; the beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," Harry reeled off.

"Very good," said Wood.

"Er—have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asked, hoping he sounded offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers—"

"—unless they crack my head open."

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers—I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings.

"This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch it because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other teams Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the snitch wins the team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, to it can go for ages—I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep.

"Well, that's it—any questions?"

Harry shook his head. He understood what he had to do all right, it was doing it that was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lost it. Let's try you out with a few of these."

He pulled a bag of ordinary gold balls out of his pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the gold balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.

Harry didn't miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half and hour, night had already fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with Quidditch and practice three evening a week on top of all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

Kate talked little about her fear of heights. Harry could tell that she was ashamed that she was not only afraid of snakes, but of heights, too. Harry had tried to assure her that it was nothing to be ashamed of, but she would either walk away or change the subject every time it was brought up.

On Halloween morning they woke up to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making object fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry's partner was Seamus, who had agreed only because Kate had already partnered with Neville (it was a well known fact that Seamus had a crush on Kate. Kate ignored it, saying that she didn't like him). ron, however, was to be working with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier about this. She hadn't spoken to either of them since the day Harry's broomstick had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Barufffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult. Harry and Seamus swished and flicked, but the feather they were supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop. Seamus got to impatient that he prodded it with his wand and set fire to it—Harry had to put it out with his hat.

Two desks away, Kate and Neville were working on making their feather float as well. Neville wasn't having much luck.

"No, no, Neville," Kate smiled patiently at him. "Look, it's more of the… feel, I guess, of the magic. You've got let it _flow_ through you. Watch," she raised her wand, flicked it, and said clearly, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

To everyone's amazement, the feather rose into the air and floated about six feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Lupin's done it! Twenty points to Gryffindor!"

Neville watched Kate in amazement and said hesitantly, "The… _feel_… of the magic?"

Kate nodded. She lowered her wand and the feather fell back onto the desk, "Try."

Neville took a large breath, closed his eyes, and said,_ "Wingardium Leviosa."_

Kate grinned as the feather rose about three feet off the desk. "Neville, open your eyes."

Neville opened his eyes and gasped when he saw that he'd actually managed to get the feather to float.

"See there!" cried Professor Flitwick. "If Neville can do it, all of you can! Another twenty points to Gryffindor!"

Neville blushed a bright red.

Ron, at the table next to Harry's, wasn't having any luck.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Well don!" cried Professor Flitwick. "_Another_ twenty points to Gryffindor!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she heard you."

"So?" said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"You idiot!" Kate slapped him upside the head. "I'm going to check on her."

"I thought you didn't like her either!"

"I've spent two months sharing a dormitory with her, Ron," Kate snapped. "Once you get to know her, she's not bad. She's just insecure because she's Muggleborn. She doesn't want to be the only one that doesn't know anything, so she does everything she can to know everything. If you paid attention to her at all, you'd understand that."

And she rushed off to find Hermione.

"Bloody hell," said Ron. "One minute she hates Hermione's guts and the next she's defending her!"

"I think she understands what Hermione's going through, now," said Harry. "She was always the smartest in our class back at Muggle school, but she couldn't show it because we weren't allowed to do better than Dudley. So now that she's got the chance, she's going to show just how smart she is. I think it's the same with Hermione. She just wants to show that she's smart. She wants to show that she's worth something."

Hermione and Kate didn't turn up for the next class and weren't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wouldn't let anyone but Kate in. ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione and Kate out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead fain.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll of you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't ask me, they're supposed to be really stupid," said Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just though—Hermione, Kate."

"What about them?"

"They don't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip, and Harry could see him pale a bit under his freckles.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But only because Kate's my friend. And Percy'd better not see us."

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me."

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said, but Ron help up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

Harry sniffed and a four stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed—at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The small coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Harry managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

"_Yes!"_

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but as they reached the corner they heard something that made their hearts stop—two high, petrified screams—and it was coming from the chamber they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

"It's the girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.

"_Kate! Hermione!"_ they said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do, but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door and turned the key, fumbling in their panic. Harry pulled the door open and they ran inside.

Hermione granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. Kate stood in front of her, wand pointed at the troll—which was advancing on them, knocking the sinks of the walls as it went—and they could almost see the gears turning in her head, trying desperately to think of any spell or hex that could help them.

"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron, and, seizing a tap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Kate and Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. it hesitated, then made from him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side o the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pip hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Harry time to run around it.

"Come on, run, _run!"_ Harry yelled at Hermione. He and Kate tried to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

"Hermione, come on!" Kate ground out through gritted teeth. Harry noticed there was a thin line of blood making its way down her cheek. She'd been hit with part of the sinks the that troll had been ripping off the walls.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the trolls' neck from behind ("Harry!" he heard Kate scream). The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped—it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Hermione had sunk to the floor in fright; Kate was edging her way around the troll, trying to get a better angle so that she could jinx it or something; Ron pulled out his own wand—not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face—forcing Kate to dive in another direction—with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

Harry made his way over to Kate and helped her stand. "Are you alright?" he asked her.

She nodded, still staring wide-eyed at the troll.

Hermione then spoke.

"Is it—dead?"

"I don't think so," said Harry, "I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

"Urgh—troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. they hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Harry's mind.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look. Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them. Kate only came with me because I asked her to."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about finish me off when they arrived. Kate had been trying to think of anything that would help us, but she'd been hit in the head with a pipe and couldn't think."

Harry and Ron tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well—in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against he rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left.

"Miss Lupin?" it was Snape who spoke. "Are you alright?"

Harry turned and put his arm around Kate's shoulders. She was starting to grow pale.

"Professor Quirrell?" said Professor McGonagall. "Would you mind taking Miss Lupin to the Hospital Wing, please?"

"Of course," Quirrell stood shakily.

"I'm fine, Professor."

"Nonsense," snapped Snape. "You are bleeding."

"Come alone," said Professor Quirrell, putting an arm around Kate's shoulders. "To the Hospital Wing."

Kate didn't look happy at all with the fact that Quirrell was touching her, but let him lead her away nonetheless.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but no many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Katherine wins five points as well. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. it was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than fifteen points," Ron grumbled.

"Ten, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him. He looked in the direction of the Hospital Wing. "Either of them."

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting from them. There was a very embarrassed pause. Without looking at them, she asked quietly, "How's Kate?"

"Professor Quirrell took her to the Hospital Wing."

Hermione nodded.

Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

* * *

><p><strong>And there's chapter ten! I hope you all enjoyed.<strong>

**I'm just going to do all the books separately, because I added up all the chapters from all the books (plus some extra chapters that I might add), and if I did it all in one story, it would be over two hundred chapters. So I'm just going to do all seven books separately.**

**Review!**

**-The Girl with the Large Glasses**


	12. Quidditch

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**Many thanks to the (few) people who reviewed!**

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_Cutie Kyuubi_ - Thanks for reviewing! Keep it up! :)

_julie662_ - Yeah, it really would stink :( Anyway, thanks for reviewing! Keep it up! :)

**Here's chapter eleven!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>Quidditch<span>

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting boomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the House Championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out somehow, and Harry didn't know which was worse—people telling him he'd be brilliant or people telling him they'd be running around underneath him holding a mattress.

It was really lucky that Harry had Kate and now Hermione as his friends. He didn't know how he'd have gotten through all his homework without them, what with all the last-minute Quidditch practice Wood was making them do. Hermione had also lent him _Quidditch Through the Ages_, which turned out to be a very interesting read.

Harry learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during the World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry and Ron had saved her and Kate from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and she had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Harry noticed at once that Snape was limping. Harry, Ron, Kate, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside of the school," said Snape. "Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor."

"There's no rule that says we can't bring library books out of the school," Kate said.

Snape glowered at her, "I suggest you quite questioning my authority, Miss Lupin."

Kate glared back.

"He's just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away. "Wonder what' wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.

* * *

><p>The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Ron, Kate, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Harry's Charms homework for him while Kate checked Ron's. Neither of them would let Harry and Ron copy ("How will you learn?" they often said simultaneously, not even realizing that they had said it together), but by asking her to read it through, they got the right answers anyway.<p>

Harry felt restless. He wanted Quidditch Through the Ages back, to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should he be afraid of Snape? Getting up, he told Ron, Kate, and Hermione he was going to ask Snape if he could have it.

"Better you than me," Ron and Hermione said (Kate rolled her eyes at them), but Harry had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other teachers listening.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

Perhaps Snape had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside—and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but—

"POTTER!"

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

"I just wondered if I could have my book back."

"GET OUT! _OUT!"_

Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor. He sprinted back upstairs.

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined them. "What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him—he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"No—he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not very mine, but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all the teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past Snape. But what's he after? What's that dog guarding? What's up with you, Kate? Is my handwriting that bad?"

Kate was frowning as she stared Ron's Charms homework, "No, no, it's not that… I'm not sure… I just think we're missing something—with Snape I mean."

Harry went to bed with his head buzzing with the same question. Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind—he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours—but the expression on Snape's face when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget.

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of friend sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.<p>

"You've need to eat some breakfast," Kate told him gently.

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," wheedled Hermione.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry felt terrible. In an hour's time he'd be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Seamus," said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

"Gross, Seamus," Kate said, wrinkling her nose.

Seamus laughed and winked at her.

* * *

><p>By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.<p>

Ron, Kate, and Hermione joined Neville, Seamus, and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione and Kate had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And woman," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Fred Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said George.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred told Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a fifth year. Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. out of the corner of his eye he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for President_ over the crowd. His heard skipped. He felt braver.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a near pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last years only a reserve—back to Johnson and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sc—no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goalposts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which—nice play by the Gryffindor beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she's really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goalposts are ahead—come on, now Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Ron, Kate, and Hermione squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, thought, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sigh of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

When Angelina had scored, Harry had done a couple of loop-the-loops to let off his feelings. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once he caught sight of a flash of gold, but it was just a reflection from one of the Weasleys' wristwatches, and once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Fred Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he had time to yell, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"

a murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs—he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—he put on an extra spurt of speed—

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below—Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry's broom spun off course, Harry holding on for dear life.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goalposts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you—"_

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills Gryffindor seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past hid head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a split second, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. He'd never felt anything like that.

It happened again. It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Harry tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goalposts—he had half a mind to ask Wood to call time-out—and then he realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn't turn it. He couldn't direct it at all. it was zigzagging through the air, and ever now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes spinet—passes Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking Professor—Slytherins score—oh no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry's broom was being strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

"Dunno what Harry thinks he's doing," Hagrid mumbled. He stared through his binoculars. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd lost control of his broom… but he can't have…"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

Kate seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape—look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. And then Hermione did. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. he had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something—jinxing the broom," said Kate.

"What should we do?" said Ron.

"Leave it to me," said Hermione.

Before Ron or Kate could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars back on Harry. His broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good—ever time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Harry," Kate whispered, white faced.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row—Snape would never know what happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes. Kate placed a shaking hand on his shoulder.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the field on all fours—coughed—and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it," Flint was still howling twenty minutes later, but it made no difference—Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results—Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. Harry heard none of this, though. He was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron, Kate, and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining, "Hermione, Kate, and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry, Ron, Kate, and Hermione looked at one another, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried o get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Kate had the strong urge to contradict Harry; to say that she was not included in the 'we' he was speaking of, but decided not to.

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy?"_

"That thing has a _name_?" Kate said incredulously.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione.

The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have changed her mind about Snape. Kate said nothing.

"I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them!" Hermione continued. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**Review!**

**-Siriusly Insane Chick**


	13. The Mirror of Erised

**I OWN NOTHING!**

**Thanks to the (few) people who reviewed!**

Cutie Kyuubi - :)

julie662 - Thanks a bunch! Keep reviewing!

**Here's chapter twelve!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><span>The Mirror of Erised<span>

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

"I do feel sorry," said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

He was looking over at Harry and Kate as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spin of lionfish, ignored them. Kate did the same. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry and Kate about having no proper family.

It was true that Harry and Kate weren't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry and Kate had signed up at once. They didn't feel sorry for themselves at all; this would probably be the best Christmas they'd ever had. Ron and his brothers were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose—that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."

"Ron, no!" Kate cried as Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

"WEASLEY!"

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."

"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him—"

"You shouldn't let him get to you like that, Ron," Kate said.

"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."

"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."

So the four of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.

"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?"

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.

"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me—Harry, Ron, Kate we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library."

"Oh, yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"

"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."

"You _what_?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here—I've told yeh—drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."

"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Kate.

"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere—just give us a hint—I know I've read his name somewhere."

"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly.

"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_, or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_; he was missing, too, from _Important Modern Magical Discoveries_, and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search with Kate while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the book containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?"

"Nothing," said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.

"You'd better get out, then. Go on—out!"

Wishing he'd been a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry left the library. He, Ron, Kate, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to. Even Kate agreed it would be bad if he found out.

Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other three had found anything, but he wasn't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.

Five minutes later, Ron, Kate, and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."

"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."

"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.

* * *

><p>Once the holidays had started, Ron, Kate, and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. Ron and Harry had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting for—break, English muffins, marshmallows—and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work. Kate would normally roll her eyes fondly and shake her head, but ever now and then she would throw in an idea or two.<p>

Ron also started teaching Harry and Kate wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family—in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all (which really irked him, because they would do whatever Kate told them to. Grant it, she was a wiz at chess). He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send _him_, we can afford to lose _him_."

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he woke early in the morning, however, the first thing he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe.

"You, too," said Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" said Ron, turning to his own pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry's. "What d'you say we take our presents downstairs and open them with Kate? She is the only one in her dormitory, after all."

"Yeah."

They lugged their presents downstairs and asked a fifth year girl to go and tell Kate to come downstairs with her presents so they could open them together.

Kate came down five minutes later, her small pile of presents levitating behind her ("Where'd you learn that spell?" Ron asked exasperatedly).

Once they were all settled in front of the fire, they dug into their presents.

Harry picked up the top parcel in his pile. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was _To Harry, from Hagrid_. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it—it sounded a bit like an owl.

"I see you got one, too," Kate told him, holding up her own flute, and smiling.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia._ Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"They actually got you something?" Kate said in amazement as he showed her the note.

"I'm just as amazed as you are," Harry grinned.

Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.

"_Weird!"_ he said. "What a shape! This is _money?"_

"You can keep it," said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle—so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," said Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. He pointed to one of Kate's gifts as well. "My mum. I told her you two didn't expect any presents and—oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's_ always_ maroon."

"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

His next present also contained candy—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.

Harry picked up the next parcel and felt it. It was very light. He unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.

"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is—they're really rare, and _really _valuable."

"What is it?"

Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is—try it on."

Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders—he heard Kate gasp—and Ron gave a yell.

"It _is!_ Look down!"

Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone.

"There's a note!" said Kate, suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before on golden parchment were the following words:

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you_

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was admiring the Cloak.

"I'd give _anything_ for one of these," he said. "_Anything_. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?

Kate gently pried the note from his fingers and read it. She gave him a sympathetic look.

Before he could say or think anything else, Fred and George Weasley bounded into the common room. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look—Harry and Kate got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, and the other a G.

"Theirs is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I supposed she thinks you don't forget your name. but we're not stupid—we know we're called Gred and Forge."

Shaking his head, Harry picked up the last, smallest parcel. It was wrapped in red wrapping paper and a gold ribbon was tied around it, tying an envelope to it. He untied the bow and took a piece of parchment out of the envelope.

_Harry,_

_Open this when you're alone, please. _

_Kate_

Harry sent Kate a questioning glance, but she was busy unwrapping her last present.

"What is this?" she said. She held up a note that was written on the same golden parchment as the note that had come with the Invisibility Cloak. She quickly read it through and her face lost all color.

"Kate?" Fred and George asked in alarm.

She silently handed Harry the note.

_Your mother asked that if anything were to happen to her before you turned eleven that I would give this to you on your first Christmas at Hogwarts. It was hers._

_Merry Christmas_

"Aw, Kate…" he sighed, but Kate was slowly opening the parcel.

She frowned.

"What's in it?" asked Ron.

Slowly, she lifted up a guitar.

"A guitar?" asked Fred, but Harry was grinning.

Kate glared at Harry playfully, some of the color coming back to her face. She flipped the guitar over and stared. Harry stood and walked over.

_To you, my beautiful little Katherine. My mother gave me this when I turned eleven and I want to keep the tradition going. I love you._

_-Madeline Hicks-Lupin_

Harry placed a hand on Kate's shoulder when he saw the moisture in her eyes. Ron, Fred, and George looked confused. _It was her mom's,_ Harry mouthed to him over Kate's shoulder. They understood immediately.

"Well?" Harry said, trying to ease some of the tension. "Are you going to play it?"

"I don't play anymore, Harry."

"You play guitar?" said Ron.

"Used to," Kate corrected.

"Where you any good?" asked Fred.

"I was okay, I guess."

"'_Okay'?"_ said Harry incredulously. "You bloody _brilliant_! Better than anyone I'd ever heard."

It was true. Kate had taught herself how to play guitar when she was little. One of their kinder neighbors had given her a small, beginner's guitar when they were five. But by the time she was seven, she could play and even the birds would stop to listen to the beautiful music. But one day Uncle Vernon got mad at her for not painting the garden fence just right and had smashed it to bits. She hadn't played guitar since.

"C'mon, Kate!" said George. "Play for us!"

"Yeah, we wanna here!" said Ron.

Harry nudged her.

Kate sighed and turned the guitar on its side, resting it on her knee. She began to play a simple, but beautiful tune that had all the heads in the Common Room turning to watch, every conversation stopping to listen. Ron, Fred, and George watched and listened in fascination, their eyes wide and their mouths gaping. Harry smiled and squeezed Kate's shoulder. Her cheeks were beginning to darken because of all the stares she could feel on her, but she kept playing anyway.

She finished with a final cord and the (few) people who were in the Common Room burst into applause. Kate blushed and ducked her head.

"Bloody brilliant!" said Fred and George coming to sit beside her on the small couch in front of the fire and each wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"You could make some serious money doing that!" said a seventh year who'd been sitting near them. "Really good playing, Kate!"

"Thanks, but I don't play for money," Kate said.

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley came down the stairs, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry and Kate got one."

"I—don't—want—" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-marched Percy back upstairs, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

* * *

><p>Harry made his way upstairs, Kate's parcel in hand. He couldn't wait to see what she had gotten him.<p>

It was a simple, brown box. Harry opened it and inside, was a picture. He picked it up and studied the five smiling faces. There were two women, one man, and two small babies, a boy and girl. The small girl had long auburn hair and auburn eyes to match. She smiled innocently up at the camera. It was Kate, Harry realized.

_Then the woman holding her must be…_

The woman had curly blond hair that went just past her shoulders and baby blue eyes. Madeline smiled easily at the camera as she cradled Kate lovingly to her chest.

Harry's eyes traveled to the small boy. He had shaggy black hair and bright green eyes. _That must be me,_ Harry thought. Yet there was no scar.

Next, Harry looked at the woman holding him. She had straight, fiery red hair and Harry's green eyes. _My mum…_ Harry thought. Then man next to her with an arm around her shoulders and the same shaggy black hair as Harry and hazel eyes. _Dad…_

Harry blinked at the sudden wetness in his eyes.

He looked down at the box and saw another piece of parchment. He recognized Kate's handwriting.

_Hagrid gave this to me a few days ago. He said that it was taken just a few days before that Halloween. He said that my father was off doing something for Dumbledore, that's why he's not in the picture. _

_I asked McGonagall to make a copy of the picture so that you and I both could have one. _

_Merry Christmas, Harry_

_Kate_

* * *

><p>Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce—and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.<p>

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wince, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry, Kate, and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt to full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until after he'd said goodnight to Kate and climbed into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he'd drawn the curtains of his four-poster. Harry leaned over the side of his own bed and pulled the Cloak out from under it.

His father's… this had been his father's. He let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk. Light as air. _Use it well_, the note had said.

He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the Cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

_Use it well._

Suddenly, Harry felt wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something held him back—his father's Cloak—he felt that this time—the first time—he wanted to use it alone.

But should he get Kate? After all, he did owe her for the picture…

No. What would happen should he be caught in the girls' dormitory? He'd go alone. Just this once.

He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.

Where should he go? He stopped, hi heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.

The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he help up his lamp to read the titles.

They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a fain whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.

He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence—the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and one, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside—stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looking straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section."

Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stood rotted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him—the Cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against eh wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi._

His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.

There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. if she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air—she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was crying; smiling but crying at the same time. The tall, thin man standing next to her put his arm around her.

And it hit Harry like a ton of bricks who they were.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They just looked at him, smiling, and slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked a though he had Harry's knobbly knees—Harry was looking at him family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

* * *

><p>"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.<p>

"You can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you two the mirror."

"I'd like to see your mum and dad," Ron said eagerly.

"And you can see your mum and the rest of your family, Kate," Harry told her.

She shrugged. She'd been very withdrawn since Harry had told her about finally seeing his parents for the first time in the mirror.

"And I want to see all your family," Harry continued, "all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

"You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

* * *

><p>What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron and Kate covered in the Cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.<p>

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"_No!"_ Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that this feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.

"It's here—just here—yes!"

They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.

There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.

"See?" Harry whispered.

"I can't see anything," said Ron.

"Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…"

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.

"Look at me!" he said.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?"

"No—I'm alone—but I'm different—I look older—and I'm Head Boy!"

"_What?"_

"I am—I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to—and I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup—I'm Quidditch captain, too!"

Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.

"Kate, why don't you try it?" Harry asked.

Kate, who'd been standing by the door, reluctantly made her way forward. Ron reluctantly moved out of the way, and Kate stood where he did.

"What do you see?"

Kate stared at the mirror, a mixture of sadness, anger, and grief etched on her face. Her fists were clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her eyes were shining brighter than normal.

"I see… my mum and me," she said finally. "That's it."

And she stepped away. Ron stepped back in front of the mirror.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" he asked.

"How can it?" said Harry. "All my family are dead—so's Kate's—let me have another look—"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me—"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!" Kate hissed.

Ron threw the Cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came around the door. Ron, Harry, and Kate stood quite still, all thinking the same thing—did the Cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

"This isn't safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

And Ron and Kate pulled Harry out of the room.

* * *

><p>The snow still hadn't melted the next morning.<p>

"Want to play, chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No.

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?" Kate suggested.

"No… you go…"

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight." Ron said.

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it—and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione."

"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."

Harry ignored him.

Ron sighed and turned to Kate, "What to play chess, Kate?"

"In a minute, I need to talk to Harry first."

Ron nodded and walked away. Kate sat down beside him.

"Look," Harry said, a bit of irritation creeping into his voice. "I know what you're about to say. Don't. I'm going back tonight."

"But why, Harry?" Kate asked. "You—"

"I need to see my parents!" Harry exploded. "The mirror is the only way I can see my parents!"

"You can see your parents any time in the picture I gave you!" Kate said, crossly. "If you even bothered to open it."

She stood and walked over to Ron, who'd gotten out his chess set, and sat down.

Harry stared after her.

* * *

><p>That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.<p>

And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.

Except—

"So—back again, Harry?"

Harry felt as though his insides had tuned to ice. He looked behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

"I—I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry was relieve to see that he was smiling.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It—well—it shows me my family—"

"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy. And Kate her mother."

"How did you know—?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want…"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. Katherine Lupin, she sees her mother, standing next to her with a smile on her face. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up.

"Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something—or, rather, two things?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me two more things, however."

"Kate. It felt like she didn't tell us what all she saw in the mirror yesterday. Did she… did she see her father?"

Dumbledore's smile was now a bit sad, "Even if I knew, Harry, I would not be able to tell you. Kate's secrets are hers. They should be respected."

"Yes, sir," Harry blushed. "One more thing. What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he moved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew… that was a long chapter.<strong>

**Sorry for the late update.**

**I hope you all enjoyed!**

**Reviews are appreciated!**

**-Siriusly Insane Chick**


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